Fall
by AnglophileConfessions
Summary: Clarke is overwhelmed by grief and guilt after Finn's death. Unable to sleep, she seeks Bellamy for comfort. **This takes place some time after episode 8 of season 2. It's angsty and doesn't necessarily fit into the timeline...but I have a lot of Bellarke feels right now...!


Clarke found her way to Bellamy's room long after everyone else had gone to bed. Her heart ached and her stomach felt perpetually empty; she was always hungry for something, no matter how much of the world she ate up. She thought Finn breaking her heart had left her empty, but no, no, this had left her empty. Killing him had carved a hole in her.

She wrung her hands, rubbing at blood stained skin that had been washed clean, days ago. Her eyes were tired, and her legs were weak as she wound her way through the maze of the fallen ark. Everyone had taken to finding a place and settling down, as though this great chunk of metal that had gouged its way into the earth belonged there. They embedded themselves within it, just as they had in the sky. The ark had fallen, much as the people that called it home had…

Clarke knocked softly against the cold metal of the door. "Bellamy…" She whispered to herself, resting her forehead against the steel, willing herself not to slide to the floor. She was a warrior. She was a warrior. She was strong. She had never felt smaller, or weaker than she did at that moment. She repeated his name, slightly louder, and heard movement as Bellamy came to the door, answering it in his black pants and socks. His eyes swept over her thin tank top, her long, bare legs, sheathed in short shorts, goose bumps raising on her skin. He looked at the floor before meeting Clarke's eyes.

"Clarke, what're you doing here?" He asked her gently, sensing that something was wrong.

"I couldn't sleep." She answered, still staring at him with her hollow eyes. He opened the door a little wider, stepping back to allow her entrance. He quickly slipped his shirt on, and Clarke felt the odd desire to ask him not to. It made her stomach hurt.

"Are you…are you okay?" Bellamy asked, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenching. Clarke didn't answer. Instead she moved forward, wanting to feel close to someone, something, while also wishing nothing would ever touch her again. Unwanted tears began to form in her clear blue eyes and she saw Bellamy soften, understanding what had kept her awake, what always kept her awake, haunted at night by the nightmares of day. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to embrace her, but the moment passed and Bellamy cleared his throat, looking up at Clarke.

"You're going to be okay. You know that right? You're strong."

"I don't want to be strong." Clarke said. "I don't want any of it. I don't want any of this."

"Clarke…" Bellamy started, his brows furrowed.

"I don't want to talk about it, Bellamy. I don't want to talk about him." Clarke's lip began to quiver. She bit down on it, tasting her own blood. She stepped even closer to him, close enough to see the smattering of freckles across his cheeks. She could smell a mixture of sweat and soil; he smelled earthy. Heat seemed to radiate from his skin and she was so cold. She was always so cold. Clarke had thought of Bellamy many times. She had thought about what it would feel like to kiss her way up his body, what his lips would feel like against hers…she had thought about how he would feel inside of her. But, she had not seen it this way. Clarke had never seen it shrouded in guilt, and sadness. But, she needed this. She needed Bellamy _now_. She wanted to bury herself inside him, to disappear within him entirely and forget what it was like to feel; she wanted to forget what Finn had felt like, she wanted to forget everything about him until all she could see was Bellamy and she could offer him an untainted love. So she closed the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his. He stiffened against her, and pull away.

"Clarke, what're you doing?" Bellamy said gripping her arms in his large, warm hands.

"I want you. I need you, Bellamy. Please." She kissed him again and this time he kissed her back, before pulling away, trying to put distance between them. His expression was hard to read.

"Don't do this to me Clarke. Please don't do this, Princess." He choked out. She winced at the nickname and it made her push even harder, desperate to forget. She tugged on his shirt, feeling his skin beneath her fingers, her breathing erratic. She just wanted it to stop. It was never going to stop. Bellamy stilled her hands with a gentleness she hadn't felt before. But, instead of calm her, it made something within her break, like a dam with too much water behind it. Her flood gates opened and before she could catch herself she was crying, falling to the ground. Before she reached it, Bellamy's arms were around her, holding her to him. Clarke felt sick and embarrassed. She shoved at him, trying to push him away from her grief, but he held fast, even as her battered fists pounded on his chest. Her tears dampened his shirt and her throat felt raw and stripped. When she was too weak to continue, Bellamy lifted Clarke up, and began to carry her towards the door.

"Bellamy?" Clarke whispered, her eyes glazed over with tiredness. "Please don't leave me alone. Please… don't ever leave me…"

When they reached Clarke's room, Bellamy pushed through the door, and gently laid Clarke on the bed. He pulled the blankets up, covering her as she shook. As soon as he released her, she missed the warmth and safety of his embrace. He said nothing as he slid to the floor next to her bed, his head resting against the side of the bed, his back leaning against the wall. Clarke's hand hung over the side of her cot as she turned to look at Bellamy in the darkness. As her eyes began to close, she felt his hand slip into hers, holding onto what little of her was left.

They never spoke of what had happened that night.

"I was being weak." _Love is weakness_. Those were the words Clarke had spoken to him as she sent him to his death. Bellamy didn't know what hurt more: the thought of her loving him, or the thought of her so easily letting it all go.


End file.
